Unspoken words fill the cold air between us, again,
clouds pregnant with confessions, with promises, with poems.
I’ll sit breathless for hours, my eyes on the night sky,
wait for them to streak recklessly then burn out of sight.
But I’ll tire, turn my head, and they’ll slip out, unseen,
float lifelessly in silence, dust trees in regret.
Perhaps one day they’ll tremble, take their first breath, wake up,
and without attachments and witnesses rise soundlessly in prayer